


24 Hours

by a_secret_scribbler



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Diogenes Club, Explicit Sexual Content, First Kiss, First Time, Flirty Greg, Les Misérables References, M/M, Minor Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, My First Fanfic, Mycroft Feels, Not Beta Read, Post-The Sign of Three, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-24
Updated: 2015-05-24
Packaged: 2018-03-31 11:39:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3976684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_secret_scribbler/pseuds/a_secret_scribbler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After escaping a disastrous blind date, Greg finds himself face to face with Mycroft Holmes in unfamiliar surroundings. Eschewing his offer of a burger, Mycroft tempts Greg with more than a meal at his club.</p>
            </blockquote>





	24 Hours

**Author's Note:**

> Sherlock is the property of ACD, Moffat and Gatiss. Like a bad babysitter, I'll hand it back quickly when it starts crying.  
> Not for profit, just for fun.

Lestrade would be in big trouble. Huge. He’d get it in the neck big time from Sally on Monday morning when he got into work, then he’d probably have to endure hours of silence after the initial onslaught, but hell, if he had to sit through one more minute, he’d hang himself. Against his better judgement he’d agreed to a blind date after months of nagging, masked in concern, from his work colleagues. After the divorce he had sworn off relationships and had managed to avoid the whole dating thing by pretending he was far more affected by his ex and her cheating ways than he actually was. Eventually though his friends had started dropping hints about getting back on the horse, and this was how he had ended up hiding in a bar just off Soho after making his excuses to a pretty, young (too young) friend of Sally’s, Cathleen? Katherine? Caitlin?

He had reluctantly rung her after an evening in the pub with John, in fact it was all Johns fault if truth be known, the bastard. After months of dancing around each other, Sherlock had leapt off the couch one evening, strode over to where John was preparing dinner in the kitchen, grabbed either side of his face and kissed him senseless. Then, after taking a step back, he’d said “John. I am nearly forty and far too old for romantic notions, therefore I won’t wait any longer for you to sweep me off my feet like some teenage heroine in a penny novel. If you would like to join me in my bedroom and divest me of my virginity, I suggest you get a move on.” He then swept out of the kitchen leaving a somewhat bemused and aroused John gripping the back of a chair for fear of falling over. Two minutes later Sherlock called out “John. Can you please leave the existential crisis about your sexuality until the morning, I have an erection and if you’re not here in the next 30 seconds…” John didn’t get to hear the end of the sentence because the words were swallowed by a deep moan. That seemed to shake John out of his stupor and slap bang into his latent bisexuality, because, by God, if him and Sherlock weren’t having the best sex of his life right now, and he wasn’t afraid to tell his poor, “I’m going through a dry patch”, mate, DI Greg Lestrade, all the dirty little details when he’d got a few beers inside him. So yeah, in a panic about never having sex again this side of fifty, he’d rung the number Sally had programmed into his phone, and agreed to a Saturday matinée at the theatre with some woman he’d never laid eyes on before.

He’d managed act one of Les Misėrables. The people had sung, many, many, times. Kerry (?) looked like she was enjoying it, well she was belting out each song loud enough for the woman sitting behind him to have shushed her. She was pretty, blonde hair, blue eyes, button nose, big smile, too many teeth…and enthusiastic, she had already mentioned Phantom for their next date, but, after faking a phone call at the interval, he’d invented an emergency at work and made a swift exit to the nearest pub with a big TV screen and a healthy dose of testosterone lingering in the air. He found a seat away from the overcrowded bar, picked up his pint, and took a long swig before staring at the footie and letting the noise of men shouting at the ref replace the annoyingly catchy refrain of “One more day.”

He was just debating whether to have another pint or call it a day when he spotted a familiar face in the crowd, looking rather bewildered and verging on frantic. Sherlock’s brother, Minecraft, no, Mycroft(?) was battling his way from the bar, one hand gripping his ever present umbrella, the other a glass containing a deep amber liquid that Greg deduced was a double whiskey. He looked ridiculously out of place, deeply uncomfortable, and desperately in need of rescuing. Greg put his hand in the air and signalled, catching the eye of the tall man, he beckoned him over.

“Mr Holmes. Would you like a seat? You look a little out of your depth.” He said gesturing at the chair opposite him.

The man lowered himself into the chair and placed both the umbrella and his drink on the table in front of him, closing his eyes for a moment he seemed to shiver slightly before reopening them and staring straight at the man opposite.

“Thank you. I was…uncomfortable…in these unfamiliar surroundings. I appreciate you allowing me to join you Detective Inspector Lestrade.”

“Please. I’m off duty. It’s Greg. Just Greg.” He said smiling and quaffing the last dregs of his pint. “Can I get you another Mr Holmes?” he asked as he watched the man drain his glass in two desperate gulps.

“Thank you. A Talisker please, a double if you would, and it’s Mycroft, if we’re dispensing with formalities Gregory”

Greg returned from the bar with his pint and placed a double scotch in front of the other man.

“I’d go easy on that if I were you, you’ll have one hell of a hangover if you neck them at the rate you did the last one.”

“I don’t usually…neck…my drinks. I just felt the need to imbibe something strong, very quickly, and as this was the only palatable drink in the environs I took it upon myself to take a double dose, so to speak. I shall savour this one. Thank you.”

“This doesn’t look like the sort of place you’d hang out in Mr Ho…Mycroft…?”

“Good God no! I had the unfortunate task of accompanying relative’s to the theatre. Les Misėrables. Do you know it? Popular musical theatre? Dreadful!”

“So you dumped them at half time and legged it to the nearest pub?” Greg smirked.

“Well…I took advantage of the interval to extricate myself from further torture.”

“Yep. I hate to admit it, but I pulled the emergency at work excuse to get out of the same show, that’s why I’m here, it’s not one of my usual haunts, but any port in a storm eh?”

“What a coincidence. Although, as my brother would remind me, the universe is seldom so lazy. Cin cin Gregory.” He said smiling and clinking his glass against the pint glass.

“Santė” the other man said raising his glass and taking a mouthful. “So who did you dump at the theatre then Mycroft?”

“My parents. I’m going to be in dreadful trouble when I see them next. Mummy was so looking forward to comparing the musical version with the novel. I cannot honestly say I enjoyed either, but then I read Hugo when was far too young to appreciate his nuances.”

“You read the book? It’s about 6 inches thick!”

“Yes, it is a hefty tome. I remember falling asleep reading it in bed, it fell forward and nearly broke my nose! I let out such a yelp that our poor nanny came running in thinking Sherlock was trying to kill me in my sleep…again…”

“Your nanny? How old were you?”

“Hmmm…around twelve, maybe thirteen. I was trying to improve my understanding of French politics. Father told me that reading it in the original French would stretch me, school was so very dull.”

“What! You were reading Victor Hugo, in French, at twelve?”

“Possibly thirteen, I can’t be certain. Why? Does that surprise you?”

“Fuck yeah! I was kicking a football in the streets from dawn till dusk when I was twelve. The only thing I read with any enthusiasm was The Beano.”

“Mummy didn’t encourage either of us to read comic books. She declared them inane and banned them from the house. Of course this encouraged Sherlock to devour them enthusiastically and hide them in the gardeners shed so mummy never found out. Although he did almost drop himself in it one evening when he told me over the dinner table that I resembled Walter, Dennis the menace’s arch enemy when I wore my new spectacles.”

Greg looked at him questioningly.

“Contact lenses. There are only so many battles I was prepared to fight. Ginger, freckles and fat were quite enough.” Mycroft explained.

“Well, there’s no sign of fat now, in fact you could probably stand a few pies to be honest, there’s nothing of you.”

“Constant vigilance Gregory.” Mycroft said furrowing his brow.

“I don’t know about you but I could just go a pie. I’m starving. I was supposed to be taking Kath…Christ, I can’t even remember her name…for dinner after the show. I’m starving.” He glanced up at the bar but failed to see a menu. “I don’t think they do food here? Bollocks!”

“Ah. I take it you were on a date? Unsuccessful?”

“Well I doubt she’ll be keen on me getting into her knickers now…”

“No. Concisely put. However, she may…put out...should you take her on a more successful second date?”

“Nah. She’s not really my type. Too young, fake tan, loads of teeth.” He shook his head “If you fancy it, there’s a Burger King a couple of streets down.”

“A burger what? I’m not familiar with…” Mycroft looked confused.

“Burger King. You know, beef burgers in a bread roll, gherkin, cheese?”

“Sounds dreadful. No. Thank you. However, if you would like to accompany me to my club, I’m sure I could feed you something much more palatable and less likely to kill you with cholesterol...Shall we?”

Mycroft drained his glass and rose from his chair waiting for Greg’s answer.

“Okay. Let’s go posh. Do they serve lobster thermidor and pheasant?”

“Only in season Gregory, and not on the same plate I assure you.” Taking up his umbrella he began to push his way through the revellers towards the door. Greg downed the last of his pint, dropped both glasses at the bar, with a nod to the barman, and followed. He emerged to find Mycroft disappearing into a large black car with an impatient “Come along Gregory.” And without question, he did just that.

*****

They were dropped off a few minutes later outside a rather imposing white building with only a small brass plaque announcing The Diogenes Club.

“Nice.” Greg commented as they walked into a long lounge area.

“If you wouldn’t mind staying silent until we reach our dining room.” Mycroft whispered, the fumes from the single malt catching in Greg’s nostrils.

Greg mimed zipping his lips and Mycroft let out a loud bark of laughter which caused the other gentlemen in the room to glare at him.

“Shush Mycroft!” Gregory chastised quietly, poking him with his elbow.

Mycroft stalked ahead of him towards a door and disappeared inside, Greg followed and found himself in a small room with a single table set for dinner. Mycroft had his back to him and appeared to be concentrating on a large oil painting above the fireplace. Greg walked over and was about to apologise when he realised that the other man was shaking with suppressed laughter.

“Oh dear lord. Did you see the Home Secretaries face when you made me laugh? He was apoplectic! Hilarious!” He mopped at his eyes, “I’m sorry, but he’s such a pompous arse.”

Greg grinned and nudged him again, “I bet he’s trying to get your membership revoked right now.”

“Well he won’t succeed. I know far too many secrets about the other members for them to risk that.” Mycroft smirked, “Right, let’s see if Armand can do better than the Burger Queen.” He offered a hand written menu to Greg.

“King, Mycroft, Burger King. Oh, they have steak and kidney pie. That’s it, I’m happy.”

“An excellent choice. Ah, here’s Darren. My companion will have the steak and kidney and I’ll have the venison, no potatoes.” He handed the menu to the uniformed man, “And we’ll have a bottle of the red out of my cellar.”

“You have a cellar here?” Greg questioned.

“Well, it’s more of a cupboard really. I keep a few good bottles for when I have company. Please take a seat, the food won’t be long.”

They settled at the table and the conversation revolved mostly around Sherlock and his antics. It seemed that Mycroft knew about his brother and John and pronounced himself delighted that all pining was over. John’s divorce from Mary had been quick and uncomplicated, the realisation that John wasn’t the father of the child sped things along. He had been back resident at Baker Street for eight months before Sherlock had declared himself and the rest was history. He did make Greg laugh loudly with his comment about how speedily the CCTV cameras had been disabled in their flat once the two men had become intimate. “I wasn’t aware that two men of their age had such healthy refractory periods.” He muttered, shaking his head, as if trying to dislodge the memory. Their meals were promptly served and Greg tucked in with gusto. He swallowed his first mouthful and let out a deep moan of satisfaction. “Hell Myc, if I was a member of this place I’d never eat at home, and I’d have to be craned out strapped to a pallet, this is delicious. How are you not 25 stone?”

“I allow myself the occasional treat, but otherwise I maintain strict control over my diet.” He ignored the shortened version of his name wondering why it was palatable to hear it coming out of the mouth of the man sitting in front of him but, during his university days, he had verbally destroyed any of his friends who had dared to do the same.

“Yeah, well perhaps I should follow your good example, I’m putting on weight. Too many days at a desk, takeaways and beer. Maybe I should take up running again, I used to go out every morning before work, and play football at the weekend. I’m getting old.” Greg poked his stomach remembered the washboard days. When he had been younger his wife used to say she could bounce a tennis ball off his abs, he’d looked damned fine in a tee shirt and been proud to show off his body, now not so much, not that he had anyone to show it off to any more.

“Gregory, please enjoy your meal, you’re still a fine figure of a man. If you’re looking to form another attachment I should imagine you would have no difficulty attracting a partner of either sex.”

Greg choked on a crumb of flaky pastry as he inhaled in surprise. He coughed and Mycroft poured him a glass of water, encouraging him to take a drink.

“Christ Mycroft. I see you and your brother share the same deducing genes.” He spluttered after getting his breath back. “Go on, what gave away the fact that I’m bi? Bearing in mind that I’ve only had female partners for the last twenty odd years.”

“You were completely accepting of John’s apparent change in sexuality, even though other friends of his in your office were disapproving. You have a roving eye. You appreciate beauty in whatever form it takes. I noticed you give Darren the once over, he is an exceptionally handsome young man, though, be warned, he is engaged to a very lovely young lady who works in the kitchen. You flirt easily with either sex. You have no problem invading my personal space with a prod or a jab of the elbow, which would indicate that you are not uncomfortable in intimate company with men. Need I go on?”

“No. That’s fine. Do I have any secrets from you? Please say you’re not watching my flat with your spy cameras…Oh God, you are aren’t you?” he buried his head in his hands.

“Let me assure you Gregory, since Sherlock’s miraculous return from the dead, there has been no need to have you under surveillance.”

“Great. Just fucking great! How long did you have your eyes on me without me knowing it?” He said putting down his cutlery firmly.

“There was nothing inside your flat, or office, both were, however, monitored from the outside after The Pool Incident. Moriarty threatened to burn the heart out of Sherlock, we took that to mean that he would get to him through his friends and loved ones. I upped your security status and ensured that, should there be any perceived threat to your life, there would be a team available within minutes.”

“Right. Thank you...I think...Christ I’m just glad you aren’t witness to my bedroom antics and my porn collection…”

“Notice that I did not refer to our monitoring of your online activities Inspector…”

“Fuck!”

“Just joking Gregory, I have no interest in your masturbatory habits. Well unless they were taking place in your office, in which case I doubt you would be sitting here still gainfully employed at New Scotland Yard.” Mycroft smirked, raising his wine glass to his lips and taking a sip.

Greg let out a sharp laugh and picked up his glass. “Masturbatory habits? You have a disturbing idea about what is suitable over-dinner conversation Mr Holmes.”

“Noted. Shall we change the subject? How is your new forensic’s man settling in?”

They talked until both meals were finished, Mycroft declined pudding and asked for a black coffee, Greg looked longingly at the dessert menu but declined also, determined not to feel uncomfortably full. He did, however, ask for cream in his coffee and wolfed down both his and Mycroft’s after dinner mint.

They repaired to two armchairs near the window to drink their coffee, whilst Darren cleared the table.

“So, what sort of club is this? Is there a secret pole dancing room? A sex dungeon?” Greg asked with a cheeky wink.

“Alas, only available to platinum members, not their guests.” Mycroft countered. “We do have an excellent billiard room, if you care to indulge after coffee. It’s not usually busy until much later in the evening when the younger members arrive. I’m not very skilled in that area but I’d be willing to attempt a game.”

“Yeah. I’d like that. I used to play a lot in my misspent youth. That and poker, had to give that up when me and the ex-wife got together, she didn’t approve of me gambling, or think much of my mates.”

“Did she think that they lead you astray?”

“She never knew the half of it, but once she found out that I’d slept with most of the lads and lasses I used to hang out with, she put her foot down. Not that I minded much. Made me grow up a bit, decide what I wanted to do with my life instead of piss it away.”

“Indeed. I envy you though. I was a very boring youth. I had a brief flirtation with the roulette tables in Monaco, a few fumbles with the gardener’s son in the stables, and I was given eighteen months of the run around by a very prominent member of parliament, who should have known better. He broke my heart and I swore off for a long time…” Mycroft frowned at the memory and avoided Greg’s gaze.

“Christ that sounds grim. But you’ve got someone now?” Greg motioned to the ring on Mycroft’s left hand.

“Ah, no. Sadly not, this is a family heirloom, I find my job doesn’t permit me the luxury of a romantic partner, I would find it difficult to maintain a relationship with the long hours and the need to disappear off to the far ends of the earth on a minutes notice. My last ended badly about seven years ago, I haven’t had the heart to try again.” He looked sadly into his cup.

“I know the pressures of long hours Myc, it’s one of the reasons my ex played away. You shouldn’t write it off though, you never know there might still be someone special waiting out there…”

“Alas, I fear that boat has sailed Gregory. Now how about we finish our coffee and then you can thrash me at billiards.”

“Well, there’s an offer I can’t refuse. Though I expect any thrashing probably takes place in the sex dungeon don’t you?” Greg said keeping a straight face.

Mycroft blushed furiously and turned away to study the wallpaper until he regained his calm. Greg was grinning at him, aware that he had cracked his ice cold façade.

Mycroft placed his cup carefully in the saucer. “Come along, if we take the western corridor we should avoid the Prime Minister twerking in the pole dancing room.”

Greg nearly spat out his mouthful of coffee as he burst out laughing, “Seriously. You know what twerking is?”

“Of course Gregory. I take a variety of newspapers, some of the red tops can be extremely informative…” He opened the door and nodded for Greg to follow him. They made their way down a long, narrow corridor to a dark wooden panelled room with a billiard table in the middle. A couple of card tables stood against one wall, and, surprisingly, a rather beautiful jukebox against another.

“Wow. That’s a beauty. I always fancied one of those. I’m a bit of a vinyl junky. Wait? They don’t let you talk down there but you can listen to Amy Winehouse in here?”

“That is the quiet room. This room is completely soundproofed, which is why it appeals to the younger clientele. If there is a consensus then music can be played. He walked over to the machine and stroked the curved sides, "It is a lovely thing, one of our more colourful characters left it to the club in his will, knew it would ruffle some feathers. It’s a Wurlitzer 2000 Centannial, circa 1956, it holds one hundred 45’s. As we’re alone would you like to choose some music?”

“Really? Yeah, I’d love to. Do I need to feed it or is it rigged?”

“Just press the button on the side and make your selection. Cash is so vulgar Gregory…” Mycroft teased.

Greg spent a few minutes flipping through the pages, making his choices whilst Mycroft set up the billiard table. The room was suddenly filled with the sound of Robert Palmer singing Addicted to Love. Mycroft raised one eyebrow questioningly.

“What? It’s a classic. Don’t tell me you didn’t have a wank over the girls in that video? With the short skirts and the red lipstick…Man!”

“Not really my area Gregory…” Mycroft said with a stiff smile, “Now, I believe one of us should hit these balls with one of those sticks over on the wall...” He walked over and took one out of the rack.

“Cues Mycroft, not sticks. Here, you need to find one that’s the right length for you, that one is too short you lanky bastard.” Greg took the cue off Mycroft and picked up a longer one, “This should do. Have you ever played this before?”

“Once. My father took me to the pub on my 18th birthday in an attempt at some quality time together. It was hateful. I despised beer. I narrowly avoided a fight, stumbling over a dog and tipping my G and T down the back of the village idiot, and I ripped a long tear in the baize of the pool table. We didn’t repeat the experience.”

Greg shook his head and tried to bite back a laugh. “Okay, let me take the lead. First I’ll show you how to hold the ‘stick’ and then we’ll let you loose on the table.”

Mycroft went rigid as Greg led him over to the table and snaked his arm around his waist to correct his hold.

“There, loosen up a little Myc, you’re not holding a garden rake. That’s it, let it rest gently on the bridge of your hand, pull it backwards and carefully push it forwards…aim towards the balls…that’s it…”

Mycroft suddenly felt an uncomfortable flush spreading across his chest, his throat felt dry and his hands trembled slightly. Never had something so innocent sounded so enticingly filthy. Gregory was so close to him that he could see the carotid pulse beating above his collar. It took every ounce of willpower that Mycroft could summon up, not to lean over and drag his tongue over that sensitive area of skin.

“Concentrate Mycroft.” Greg chided him. “You don’t want to rip anything in here…”

 _Only your shirt open_ , thought Mycroft. _Where did that come from?_

Greg stepped back and left Mycroft to make the break. It was far from perfect but the balls scattered with a satisfying crack. From his position behind Mycroft, Greg found himself casting a glance over the other man’s beautifully displayed and expensively clad bottom. He licked his lips subconsciously and plunged his hands firmly into his pockets to avoid the desire to reach out and discover whether the light grey fabric encasing Mycroft’s buttocks felt as soft as it looked.

Another song started on the jukebox, Duran Duran, Hungry Like the Wolf. Mycroft stood up and turned towards him as Greg took a step forward. Taking the cue from his hand and laying it carefully onto the table he looked into the other man’s grey eyes and silently asked a question. Mycroft gave a sharp, almost imperceptible, nod of permission and Greg leant forward slowly pressing his lips to Mycroft’s in a soft, and surprisingly sweet, kiss.

Mycroft let his eyelids slide closed, all the better to block out anything but the sensations that were flooding his brain. _Soft. Plump. Sour from recently consumed coffee. Gentle. Warm…Breathe._ Greg’s hands brushed against his face, fingers laced into his hair and his head was tilted slightly to improve the angle as suddenly the kiss ramped up another notch. Greg flicked his tongue against the seal of Mycroft’s lips in a bid for entry, he felt a quiet moan bubble up from his throat and Greg’s lips smiled against his own before his tongue swiped along Mycroft’s top lip. Taking advantage of the gasp of surprise that left the other man, he slipped his tongue into Mycroft’s mouth and, with infinite tenderness, gave the younger man a snogging that he could never, even in his wildest dreams, have imagined.

Mycroft felt himself unravelling under the silky caress of Greg’s tongue. Their only points of contact were the hands in his hair and that incredibly talented mouth against his. His cock had risen so fast in his boxers that he seriously thought that he might faint from all the blood in his body abandoning his brain and rushing south. He desperately wanted to know if Greg was experiencing a similar feeling but his hands remained stubbornly attached to the billiard table behind him. He eventually allowed his tongue to graze against the other mans and heard a moan slip from those busy lips, Greg surged forward trapping him against the table, pressing a healthy erection into his thigh. _So yes, the other man was similarly affected._ That was all he needed to release his hands from the woodwork, allow them to find a their way under the vent of Greg’s jacket and slip into the back pockets of his jeans, taking full advantage of this position to pull him even closer still.

Greg allowed himself to be positioned so that his cock was pressed hard against another for the first time in over twenty years and the need to thrust his hips and grind himself to completion here in this stuffy, posh, unfamiliar room was overwhelming. It was only the fear of discovery and the need to watch this overdressed, and chillingly in-control man, fall to pieces, that allowed him to break the kiss and pull himself away so that they were barely touching but still intimately sharing the same air.

Mycroft’s eyelids fluttered open, Greg noted the fully blown pupils as the younger man struggled to focus on his own deep brown eyes

“W…Why have you stopped?” Mycroft asked, his voice soft and a little breathless.

“Because, you glorious bastard, I don’t want to come in my pants like a teenager. I don’t want us to be evicted from this place and face charges of indecent behaviour. And because, my fantasy, right now, is to take you somewhere very, very, private, unwrap you and take you to pieces so slowly that you’ll be begging me to let you come, and, if you’re a very, very, good boy, I might just let you…”

Greg witnessed the full body tremble that shook Mycroft and smiled. “So. Your place or mine?”

“I have a pied-ὰ-terre about a ten minute walk from here…” Mycroft managed, running his hands through his hair to repair the damage Greg’s fingers had done.

“That sounds perfect. Just give me a moment to calm myself down. I don’t want the Home Secretary getting an eyeful.” He stepped away and adjusted himself in his jeans. “Thank god for jackets eh?”

“Indeed.” Mycroft agreed smoothing the front of his silk and woollen trousers over his still interested cock. “I’m just going to freshen up before we run the gauntlet. The rest room is next door, should you feel the need Gregory.”

“No. You go ahead. I don’t think it’s wise to put me in a room with a lock anywhere in your vicinity until we get to your place…I might not be so willing to put a stop to proceedings again.”

“I won’t be a moment.” Mycroft said, trying to gain some control over his legs as he strode from the room.

Greg racked up the billiard balls and replaced the cue. The jukebox was still working its way through his selection, he smiled at the appropriateness of the song playing as he left the room to wait for Mycroft in the corridor. Marvin Gaye. Sexual Healing.

Mycroft appeared a few minutes later looking calmer and more collected than he felt. “Shall we?”

“Lead on MacDuff” Greg said with a cheeky grin as he followed the taller man back through the quiet room with all its solemn looking inhabitants, the oddest walk of shame Greg had ever experienced.

Back on the street, he took a deep breath and fell into step with his companion. “I don’t like to raise this, but do we need to get any supplies on the way?”

“What? Oh…no…I assure you, everything should be catered for…that is unless you have a particular preference?”

“Nope. Just wondered if I needed to do a last minute dash to the chemists.”

“That won’t be necessary. I have staff who pre-empt my requirements.”

“So, Mycroft Holmes, what you’re saying is that the driver of the car who dropped us off at your posh club nipped round to Boots afterwards and stocked up your bedside drawer?”

Mycroft looked a little flustered. “Well, I may have sent him a text whilst I was in the bathroom, to run a little errand for me…”

“He won’t be hanging around though, will he?”

“Oh no. The job’s done and he’s off duty for the night. He’ll garage the car and be off home to his wife and Match of the Day.”

“So we have the place to ourselves? No pesky cameras?”

“Nothing of the sort Gregory. Security is optimum of course, but once the door is locked and the alarm deactivated we need not worry about being watched or disturbed.”

“Excellent, because I intend having your cock in my mouth the second your front door closes…” Mycroft stopped in his tracks and Greg had to backtrack. “Wassup?”

“I feel it wise to inform you Gregory that I don’t usually do this…I don’t go in for attachments, of any kind, I find them...unwise...and inconvenient…”

“24 hours Mycroft. I’m asking for nothing more. That’s assuming, of course, you don’t have to fly off in the morning to visit Putin?”

“Happily I have no engagements tomorrow.”

“Well then, how about we give ourselves a day off from the usual shit we both deal with and not think about work until Monday morning. Look, its 8.30 pm, I’ll set the alarm on my phone and tomorrow evening at exactly the same time I’ll be out of your hair. I’m not asking for a commitment Myc, I’d just like the opportunity to give in to my desires for a change, that’s all.”

“Your fantasy?”

“Yeah. You. All sweaty, naked and begging.”

“Gregory…please…”

“That’s just what I’m talking about…”

*****

Mycroft unlocked the door to his apartment and swiped a card through a device next to the light switch, Greg followed him inside closing the door behind him. The hallway was illuminated by a lamp on a small table underneath a large mirror, before Mycroft could take another step, he found himself crowded against the wall opposite the mirror and had the delightful vision of the back of Greg’s head disappearing out of view as the older man dropped to his knees in front of him.

Hands ran up the insides of his thighs and then stopped, framing either side of his rapidly swelling cock. Looking up through his lashes Greg spoke. “Well. What have we here Mr Holmes? A concealed weapon? I’m going to have to take a look at that.”

There was the sound of his zip being undone and fingers smoothed over the placket of his silk boxer shorts, the material was already damp from their previous dalliance, now his cock was leaking pre-come at a frankly alarming rate. There was a rustle of fabric and he sprang out of his fly, knocking against the cheek of the Inspector before being suddenly engulfed in warmth and wetness as Greg took him into his mouth.

He took in a shuddering breath and with every ounce of his rapidly disappearing control, willed himself not to thrust his hips forward. That wicked tongue traced along the protruding vein and flicked at his frenulum. Greg pulled away a little, grabbing Mycroft’s hands and placing them in his hair he gave the other man permission to use his mouth at will. Not able to hold back any longer Mycroft pushed in again and his length was taken willingly. The head of his cock touched the back of Greg’s throat and, instead of triggering his gag reflex, the man just swallowed around him. Forcing himself back against the wall he withdrew a little and then buried himself again as he gripped Greg’s hair. He fleetingly worried that he might be causing the other man some pain, but this was dismissed when he heard a deep guttural moan escape from around the mouthful of his cock. Greg wanted to be used and Mycroft set a punishing rhythm, all the time feeling himself racing towards completion. He felt the coiling in his gut and his balls drew up as he thrust yet again, pulling back sharply he tried to warn Greg.

“Fuck…I can’t…Greg…I’m going to….”

Greg braced his hands on the wall either side of Mycroft and took him down one last time as the other man emptied himself down his throat. “Oh...Oh…God…yes…yes…” He cried out as Greg swallowed his release and licked him clean, placing one last kiss on his softening cock.

“There. That should take the edge off. Now, where’s your bedroom? I want to see what else you’ve got hiding behind that immaculate three piece suit.” He pushed himself up off his knees, nodded towards the staircase and said “Up here right?” before striding off and taking the stairs two at a time. Mycroft managed to call out “Second door on the left,” before sinking down the wall onto his arse and having to take a few minutes to recover from the onslaught. _Oh. Gregory Lestrade. You are a one man hurricane, and I’m not sure I’m going to survive the night…_

When he had eventually gathered himself enough to trust that his legs would carry him upstairs, Mycroft made his way to the bedroom, he heard a flush and the water running in the sink of his en-suite.

“Hope you don’t mind…” Greg said walking back into the room. “Nice place you’ve got here.” He looked over at the large bed dominating the room. “That looks sturdy. Shall we find out?”

Mycroft found himself being steered until the back of his knees hit the mattress and he fell backwards sprawling onto the sea green silk coverlet.

“Knowing what a vain man you are Mr Holmes, I’d say you chose that bedding to bring out the colour of your hair? Would I be wrong?”

“G…Gregory…I had the linen sent over from Selfridges, I asked for green to match the curtains which were already in place…It is a pure coincidence that the sheets complement my colouring…”

“I seriously doubt that Myc, what did you say earlier? The universe is seldom so lazy?”

“Ah…Hoisted by my own petard…” Mycroft said, a smile flickering at the edge of his lips. He sat up a little and began to shrug off his jacket.

“Ah, ah, ah...No you don’t. I think I mentioned that my fantasy involved unwrapping you…Hands off! That’s my job!”

There were times, in the next hour, that Mycroft thought the Detective Inspector may have been given covert lessons in torture. After slowly and carefully removing his outer garments, leaving him dressed only in his favourite pale blue, Turnbull and Asser shirt, and his, rather sticky, navy blue silk boxer shorts, his wrists were tied to the headboard with his Drakes, hand rolled, shantung silk tie. DI Lestrade, still fully dressed apart from his socks, shoes and jacket, was lavishing attention on his right nipple, Mycroft moaned as the aforementioned detective used his talented tongue to bring the nipple up to full attention, before blowing softly across it causing the bound man to give a full body shiver.

“God Myc, you’re so responsive. I think it’s time to move things on a little don’t you? Do you want me to untie you or can you take a bit more? I don’t want you to lose all feeling in your arms, but if you can go a little bit longer let me know eh?”

“It’s f…fine…I’m fine…go on.”

“Let me get out of these then, I’m getting a bit hot.” Greg moved off the bed and began to undo his shirt buttons, he never took his eyes off Mycroft and enjoyed being the focus of his attention as he divested himself of all his clothes. Finally, as he slipped his plain cotton boxer briefs down his well-muscled thighs and his impressive erection stood proud from his stomach, he heard Mycroft gasp.

“Yeah. I know. I’m a big boy, but don’t worry I’m not going to put this anywhere near your lovely arse tonight. No. I’m going to prepare myself and then I’m going to ride you past the finishing line.” He leaned over to the top drawer in the cabinet next to the bed and pulled out a small bottle of lube and a foil wrapped condom, “Let’s get this on you and you can watch while I get myself ready.” Gripping Mycroft’s boxer shorts he pulled them down and off in one swift move, revealing a flushed and straining cock that was weeping pre-come onto the tied man’s belly. Greg couldn’t resist a quick lick to the swollen head before he carefully encased it in latex. Turning away from Mycroft he prised open his buttocks and exposed his hole and then, with a sly wink over his shoulder, he slicked up a finger and pushed it in right up to the knuckle. He let out a whimper as he started to move the digit in and out, a couple of minutes later joining it with another.

“Oh god Myc, I’d forgotten how good this feels. The ex was never into anal, she wouldn’t let me anywhere near her arse and she wouldn’t touch mine, said it was filthy. I’ve played a bit on my own, but just knowing that you’re going to be balls deep in me in a few minutes…Christ…”

Mycroft watched as the man in front of him added a third finger and spread them, loosening himself for what he knew was to come. He couldn’t help canting his hips in the same rhythm as Greg was plundering his own hole, listening to the man spew out a liturgy of filth as he ground himself on his own fingers. It was killing him.

“Please Greg…you’re ready, let me have you…please…I’m begging you…”

“That’s the first time you’ve not managed to get to the end of my name, you must be desperate…” the other man teased, slowly turning around to face him and straddling his hips. Lowering himself a little, he brushed the tip of Mycroft’s straining cock with his wet, puckered, hole. “Ask me nicely Myc and I’ll let you in.”

Mycroft groaned as he tilted his hips trying to get access. “Let me fuck you Gregory. Please. Let me push my cock into your arse and fill you...” He managed to grit out, all attempts of restraint falling away now. With a blissed out smile on his face Greg took hold of Mycroft’s length in one hand and held it steady while he sunk down onto him in one deep, satisfying slide.

Tilting his hips slightly and bracing his hands on Mycroft’s shoulders Greg set a slow pace, relishing the way his body adjusted quickly to the intrusion. Mycroft was not as big as him, but he was slightly longer than average and with a wicked curve that would hit the spot if Greg could just get the angle right. He lowered himself again, felt the head of Mycroft’s cock drag across his sweet spot and he let out a deep, satisfying moan. Watching and hearing Greg fucking himself on his cock was driving Mycroft crazy, he wanted to hold Greg down and pound into him like a crazed animal, but his silk restraint was preventing him doing anything about it. He struggled against the knot, desperately trying to loosen it.

“Hey sweetheart, have you had enough? Let’s get you out of that…” Greg leant forward and tugged at the knot, loosening it enough that, with a strangled cry, Mycroft pulled out of his binds, grabbed Greg by the hips, and flipped them so that Greg’s back hit the mattress. He pinned Gregs arms above his head. “Had enough? Had enough? I’ll show you enough Inspector, when I’ve finished with you, you won’t be able to sit down for a week,” he growled, capturing the other man’s mouth in a deep kiss and sinking back into him with a rough push of his hips. Now that the tables were turned Mycroft could feel all control being ceded by Greg and he willingly took it. He shifted slightly, rearranging one of Greg’s legs so it was draped over the crook of his elbow, and then he began to fuck him with a passion that up until now he had no idea he possessed. It felt exquisite, the tightness of Greg’s arse, the moans he was forcing out of the man’s mouth, the slick sweat and slide of their bodies as he pounded into that willing flesh.

Greg was taken by surprise at the way Mycroft had reversed their roles, he found himself pinned to the mattress and being fucked into oblivion by a man whose name he could barely remember only a few short hours ago. It was bloody glorious. His cock was desperate for some friction, he struggled to free his hands but Mycroft held on firmly and growled. “You’ll come untouched or you won’t come at all Gregory.”

The threat of being left unsatisfied ramped up his desire, he could feel the edge of his orgasm rolling in his gut, but Mycroft was cleverly holding himself tantalisingly above Greg as he ploughed into him so that his aching cock was unable to rub along the other man’s stomach, it was sweet agony.

Mycroft could feel his orgasm approaching like an oncoming train, and with one last thrust he tucked his head into Greg’s neck and bit down into his sweat soaked skin, Greg howled, more in shock than pain, but that sent him spiralling over the edge and his cock pulsed untouched into the space between them, ribbons of come painting both their stomach and chests. Mycroft collapsed on top of him spent and lay there panting until he could summon the energy to roll over and off, they settled next to each other breathing heavily. Greg’s fingers found Mycroft’s and they wrapped together in a single point of contact, unwilling to be separated just yet.

Greg was first to find his voice. “Well. That was a first…never come without being touched before…that was…Christ…fucking amazing…”

Mycroft grinned and left out a huff of amusement “Absolutely. Fucking. Amazing.” Greg burst out laughing and Mycroft joined in as they lay covered in sweat and semen and stinking of sex. Mycroft reached down and removed the condom, knotting it, and dropping it into the bin next to the bed.

“One of your minions will empty that then?” Greg asked amused.

“Oh dear god no! I don’t pay anyone enough to do that job, I’ll see to it myself. Just like I’ll strip the bed, I don’t like the idea of a cleaner dealing with the results of my...well...this...whatever…”

“Perhaps if we both had a shower we could keep these sheets on and avoid too much damage.” Greg said looking at the mess he had made of himself. Mycroft unfastened his cufflinks, squirmed out of his shirt and swiped it across his and Greg’s stomach removing the worst of it. “Christ Myc, that shirt’s probably worth more than every article of clothing I own and you use it as a spunk rag?”

“Yes Gregory, you’re probably correct, perhaps when I pick up another one I’ll ask them if they make, what you so charmingly refer to as a spunk rag, to match. I could keep it in my jacket pocket instead of a silk handkerchief.” Mycroft said dryly.

Greg burst out laughing again and, leaning over, he planted a kiss on Mycroft’s cheek. “I dare you!” he said before sitting up and heading towards the en-suite. “Fuck Myc. This shower has more buttons than the space shuttle, come and show me how to work the bugger before I end up launching an air missile or something.”

Mycroft slid into the shower behind him. “You can’t launch missiles from my shower Gregory, only from the coffee machine in the kitchen, you fool.”

They spent ten minutes enjoying the different variations of spray and steam, Greg luxuriating in a shower that maintained a constant heat rather than the dodgy one he had at his place which varied between scalding hot and freezing cold on a whim. He washed himself with the expensive smelling shower gel and let Mycroft wash his hair, before returning the favour. When they were both clean and wrapped in giant fluffy bath sheets they returned to the bedroom and tried to make it less of a war zone by collecting up various items of clothing and making two piles on the armoire. Greg noticed that Mycroft disappeared into a room next to the en-suite and popped his head around the door.

“Fuck Myc! You’ve got a hundred shirts!”

“Don’t be ridiculous. There are fifty at the most. Here take these, they should fit, might be a little long on the leg though.” He thrust a pair of pyjamas into Greg’s hands. “Yes, I have a dressing room. Yes, I own more than one suit, including a tuxedo and a kilt. No I won’t put it on tonight. Now shoo. Back to bed with you!” He flapped his hands at Greg and forced him to back out of the room.

Greg slipped into the pyjamas. “Are these silk Mycroft?”

“Yes Gregory. I have sensitive skin, I would be up all night scratching if I wore poly-cotton. Is that a problem?”

“Nope. They’re lovely. I might just smuggle them out of the house under my clothes tomorrow…”

“I think not. I’d hate to get the police involved...” Mycroft said with a smile. “If you’d like to brush your teeth, there are some new tooth brushes in the cupboard above the towels in the bathroom.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Greg disappeared to perform his nightly ablutions and returned to find Mycroft sitting in bed flicking through his mobile. “I’ve had three messages off my mother insisting I meet up with them, Sherlock and John for lunch tomorrow, sadly I’ve had to decline, offering the state of relations with Russia as my excuse.”

“Does that mean I’m Putin tomorrow?” Greg mumbled as he slipped between the sheets and settled against a plumped pillow “Because I hate it when that happens…”

Mycroft turned off his phone and shoved it into his drawer. “Sadly yes, and you're completely responsible for the unholy mess in the Ukraine.”

“Yep. Never could work a Sat Nav…Night Myc.” Greg rolled onto his side facing Mycroft and stroked the other man’s arm. “Are you a cuddler then?”

Mycroft settled down facing him and a sad look flickered across his face. “I have no idea Gregory, I have never in living memory actually shared a bed, apart from when Sherlock was little and he used to sneak in during a thunderstorm, but I suppose that doesn’t really count.”

“Christ Myc, you’re breaking my heart, come here.” He held his arms open and Mycroft shuffled towards him looking and feeling awkward.

“Right, you turn your back to me, I’ll be the big spoon.” Greg snuggled up, fitting his knees in the bend of Mycroft’s and slinging an arm loosely around his waist. Placing a soft kiss on the back of his head he whispered. “Night Myc, sleep tight.”

Mycroft allowed himself to sink into Greg’s embrace and closed his eyes. “Goodnight sweet prince.” He whispered softly as sleep claimed them both.

*****

Light was creeping through a crack in the curtains across his pillow. Mycroft woke to the unfamiliar feeling of the warmth of another person against his back and an impressive erection poking him in the buttocks. His own morning wood was demanding attention too and he reached down to allow himself a sneaky stroke. The movement woke the man behind him and the arm around his waist pulled him closer.

“Morning gorgeous.” Greg said around a yawn and a stretch. “God I’ve not slept that well in years.” The hand that was pressed against Mycroft’s stomach snaked downwards and cupped round the bulge in the front of his pyjamas. “Oh hello. Someone’s awake.” He tipped his hips forward and pressed his own pyjama clad cock against the cleft of Mycroft’s arse. It felt wickedly good.

Mycroft startled and leapt out of bed claiming he needed the loo. After a few minutes he returned but sat nervously on the edge of the bed.

“Gregory. I’ve never really enjoyed being penetrated. The last man who did it was rather rough and it hurt so badly that I had to endure a very embarrassing visit to Harley Street. I was fine, just a bit bruised, but the experience unnerved me and I don’t think…”

Greg sat up in bed and looked at the man who was blushing furiously and avoiding his eyes. “Hey Myc, we don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with. Whoever that bastard was who hurt you, I'll gladly knock ten bells out of him. It’s not a tit-for-tat situation. Just because you fucked me last night doesn’t mean I do you this morning. I’m happy with whatever you’re happy with, or we could just go downstairs and have coffee. It’s all fine.”

He saw the other man visibly relax. “Thank you for understanding Gregory, and there’s no need to threaten my last sexual partner, he found himself transferred to a remote African country with very draconian views on homosexuality. I doubt he’s enjoyed a sexual experience in over six years. But enough of him, there is something I used to enjoy very much when I was at boarding school…another pupil and I discovered the delights of hand lotion and a slippery cock between the thighs. We have plenty of lube and I’d be very happy to explore that again…”

Greg smiled and beckoned Mycroft across and into his arms. “Let me go and brush my teeth and then I’m going to snog you, and then you are going to initiate me into the delights of boarding school sex. Trust me, I can hardly wait.” He slipped out of bed and into the bathroom.

When he returned Mycroft was lying back against the pillows with a broad smile on his face, Greg climbed back onto the mattress and settled into the other man’s arms. “Come up here Greg, you promised me a good snogging.” Their lips found each other and for the next ten minutes all that could be heard was the sound of silk against silk, soft whispers and moans. Eventually Mycroft slipped off his pyjama top, shifted himself over onto his side and settled Greg behind him, with a smooth move he lowered the back of his pyjamas so that the other man’s damp, silk clad cock was nestled against his buttocks. Greg moaned and his hips gave an involuntary thrust forward, “Jeez Myc, I could cut glass with this thing.”

Mycroft chuckled and reached over to retrieve the lube from under the lamp where it lay discarded from the night before, applying it liberally between his thighs and behind his balls, he shuffled backwards a little. “Gregory, what I’d really like you to do now is to get out of those pyjamas and then slide yourself in between my legs, I’m going to clamp my knees together to make myself nice and tight for you, and then, when you’re ready, you can reach round and masturbate me with your hand while you’re at it, I think we'll both enjoy the experience.”

Greg did as he was told and slipped his now aching shaft into the tight, slick, space between Mycroft’s thighs. “Oh god…that’s so good Myc…” he gasped out as he gripped the other man’s hip for leverage, sliding out again and thrusting forward with a kick of his pelvis. Mycroft let out a groan of frustration and grabbed hold of Greg’s hand, pulling it towards his aching dick. “Just give me a minute babe…” Greg whispered in his ear, and pulled himself back, he looked down and saw his penis, the head swollen, purple and leaking pre-cum, the shaft glistening with lube. Pushing Mycroft over onto his front, he straddled the other man’s legs and carefully spread his buttocks just enough so that leaning forward he could rest his cock in between and run the head slowly over Mycroft’s tiny hole. On the first pass he felt the other man tense, “Hey, it’s okay, I’m only teasing you…just wanna see you. You look so good Myc. So tight…” he pushed the head forward again, dragging it across the sensitive furled skin “…I’d love to lick you open Myc…Oh god…” Mycroft let out a high pitched whine and bucked hard against the mattress. Using a level of restraint he didn’t know he possessed, Greg braced himself so that his cock was just touching the other man’s hole and he watched with fascination as he leaked copiously right onto it, the sight so erotic that he let out a growl before sliding back and plunging deeply between the thighs of the other man, rutting into them furiously. He could feel his orgasm licking like flames at the base of his spine, gripping Mycroft’s hips again he pulled them both up, so that he was kneeling behind, and the younger man was sitting on his lap. As he continued to thrust he wrapped his hand around Mycroft’s shaft, pulled on it hard half a dozen times and felt it thicken and throb its release over his fingers. The gasps and moans coming from the other man sent him spiralling over the edge and he spent himself with a final thrust, emptying his load behind the other man’s balls with cry of ecstasy. His head fell forward and he rested his forehead between Mycroft’s shoulder blades until he could summon enough energy to roll them both over onto their sides. They lay there panting, their heart rates slowing, Greg stroked his hand in circles on Mycroft’s tummy, spreading lube and come liberally, he heard a huff of laughter escape the other man’s lips. “Gregory, I’m filthy and you’re just making it worse.”

“Shush, I’m having a post-coital cuddle and you’re ruining it…and you’re responsible for half the mess so stop complaining.”

“I think I’m for the shower, if you’ll just unhand me…”

Greg gripped on tighter and placed kisses across the top of Mycroft’s shoulders. “I just wanna kiss all these sexy freckles, then you can go…just a few more to go…”Mycroft tutted and pulled away, “I dislike my freckles Gregory, I fail to see anything sexy about them.”

“That’s because you’re an idiot. They’re gorgeous, like constellations of stars over your shoulders. You should be proud of them Myc, not everyone has starlight on their skin.” Greg rolled over onto his front, baring his bottom, “Now me, I’m more of your full moon…” He felt a brush of lips on his right buttock just before Mycroft took his leave and seconds later he fell into a light slumber.

*****

When he woke again, it was to the smell of coffee, he pushed himself upright and into the shower, spoiling himself with some of Mycroft’s fancy potions. Quickly towelling himself dry and raking his hair into some sort of order with his fingers, he pulled on his jeans, tucking his day old boxers into his jacket pocket and slinging it over a chair. He buttoned up his wrinkled shirt and looked in the mirror, his face was reddened with a slight stubble burn and he had a deep purple bruise just peeking above his collar which caused a big grin to break across his face. “Shit! I’ve fucked a vampire.” He tried to rearrange his collar, failed spectacularly, gave up and went downstairs to search for the culprit.

Mycroft was fully dressed, if more casually than Greg had seen him before, taupe, brushed cotton chinos and a navy blue shirt, sleeves rolled up, his feet were bare and he was tapping his toes as Aretha belted out “Chain of Fools” from hidden speakers. He turned and paused as he whipped up eggs in a bowl when Greg entered the kitchen, “Ah, Gregory, I was just coming to wake you, I’m going to make a frittata for brunch, would that suit you?”

“Yeah. That sound good, I’m starving…can I help?”

“You could set the table. The plates are in the cupboard next to the fridge, cutlery in the drawer above. There’s orange juice in the fridge, glasses over there…” he nodded to another cupboard near the sink. “Do you like mushrooms?”

“Love ‘em. Can I grab a coffee? You want a top-up?”

Mycroft slid his mug over, and Greg filled it from the cafetiere before he filled the other empty mug on the table. He poured a healthy dollop of cream into his and swirled it around before taking a large gulp.

“God, that’s good. Where do you get that from? It’s not your average supermarket blend.”

“Ah...well no…I have a standing order at Markus, Marble Arch, they do a bespoke blend to my taste…”

“Of course they do…you posh git!” Greg teased, taking another swig. “Well, it’s bloody delicious, better than the swill I usually drink at work...bespoke bloody coffee…I ask you…” he rattled the cutlery drawer and pulled out knives and forks for both of them. “Do you have any napkins woven from the hair of unicorns, or will kitchen towel do?”

Mycroft pulled open the drawer next to his right hip and threw a couple of napkins in the other man’s face, “The unicorn one’s are in the wash, will linen suffice?” he said biting back a grin. Greg caught them and sighed deeply, “God. I’m so fucking tired of slumming it with you…it’s about time you upped your game…”

Ten minutes later they were sitting at the small kitchen table, opposite each other, tucking into the best frittata Greg had ever tasted. “Jeez Myc, how come some lucky bloke hasn’t snapped you up? You’d make someone a lovely wife.”

Mycroft’s cheeks pinked up a little as he fought to control the smile that was threatening to break out across his face. “Ah, yes…I am a bit of a catch as you kindly point out. I get Anthea to corrall all my suitors into an orderly line every Monday morning and then go through their résumés, sadly none have met her exacting standards, so I remain a bachelor.”

“Hmm, I don’t recall getting an invite to that party…” Greg said with a put-upon sigh.

“Just minor royals, Arabian oil billionaires and Russian oligarchs, I’m afraid…I have an expensive coffee habit to support…”

“Yeah, my poor wage wouldn’t cover your taste in unicorn napkins either,” Greg said shaking his head and wiping his mouth, “Still, it would have been nice to make the shortlist.”

Mycroft looked over at him and smiled, a wistful look briefly crossed his face, “I wouldn’t make anyone a suitable spouse, I’m far too selfish and stuck in my ways. Besides which, no one would put up with the hours I work, and I’m too old to change my ways now. I gave up on that particular dream years ago.”

“But you did want it at some point? It was on the agenda?”

“Of course I did. I always thought that I’d meet someone, but you know how it is...In my twenties I was too busy climbing the slippery pole at work, my early thirties were pretty much spent trying to stop Sherlock from killing himself, or clearing up the messes he'd made. Every time I met someone, it would turn out that he was only dating me to try and secure himself a better position, or after a sugar-daddy, or worse...I just stopped trying…” Mycroft looked down at his empty plate, avoiding eye contact, wondering why he found it almost impossible to sensor his words around the man.

“Well, marriage isn’t all it’s cracked up to be Myc, especially if your other half can’t keep their knickers on while you’re off out grafting. I thought I’d be sitting sweet in suburbia with a kid or two and a Labrador by now. Looks like we’ve both missed that boat.”

Mycroft pushed his chair away from the table and started to load the dirty pots into the dishwasher. “I believe the Grand Prix is on this afternoon, would you care to watch it with me? I could do us both a light supper afterwards, before you take your leave.”

“That would be great Myc. In fact it sounds to me like the ideal way to spend a Sunday afternoon, vegging out on the couch with a mate watching telly.”

Mycroft rooted around in the fridge and found a couple of bottles of beer, he placed them near the front in case they fancied them later, then he pulled open a sliding larder cupboard and Greg found himself faced with row upon row of crisps, chocolate bars and snacks.

“Fuck Myc! I thought you said you watched what you ate?”

Mycroft laughed. “Yes I tend to be very cautious normally, however, my staff work unsocial hours and complain when all they can find is hamster food, so I make sure there’s a selection of snacks to satisfy their cravings. If you're a bit peckish later please come and help yourself.”

“I think I’ve just met a man after my own heart…I mean…yeah that would be fine…the snacks and stuff…I’ll just go and…this way is it?” Greg stumbled over his words, revealing far too much, and beat a hasty retreat towards the hallway.

Mycroft watched as the man headed down the hallway, “On the left, the second door…” he shouted after him, he pulled a packet of vegetable crisps and a bag of fun sized chocolate bars out of the cupboard and left them on the counter top before following Greg to the snug. The room was the smaller of the two living rooms, the other was more formal and had patio doors that lead out to a small walled garden, on the rare occasions that he had to entertain in the city, the larger room was the one he used. It was light and airy and impersonal, no traces of his home life on show, no weaknesses to be exploited at a future point. The room he entered now was much smaller, it had a bay window which looked down onto the street, however, the room’s privacy was ensured by the fact that the windowsill was host to a large number of orchids, many of which were in bloom, they let in a dappled light but allowed no one to see directly inside. One side of the room had an ornate mantelpiece over an open fire, the grate already laid with logs in anticipation of cooler evenings, the shelf above the fire was cluttered with old photographs and knick-knacks, it was there Greg was standing, his back to the door, looking with interest at a framed photograph of a much younger Mycroft. The photograph showed him sitting on a deckchair, a book in one hand and the other around the shoulders of a smaller child, who was seated on his knee. With the unmistakeable raven curls of his brother, young Sherlock was smiling at the camera, he was dressed in pyjamas and an eyepatch. Greg let out a laugh. “Christ he looks like he was a handful even then.”

“Yes, he managed to poke himself in the eye sword fighting with a garden cane, scratched his retina and had to wear that eye patch for a fortnight. Unfortunately, by the time it was due to be removed, Sherlock had become rather attached to the thing and wouldn’t take it off. He adopted the pirate name Captain Blood and refused to answer to his given name for almost four months. He spent most of his time up a tree in the garden, he tied one of mummy’s best table cloths to the branches as a sail and forced me to walk the plank on a daily basis. He even christened our puppy Redbeard.”

“You both look adorable Myc.” Greg said putting the photograph frame back.

“Yes. What happened...?” Mycroft said nudging it slightly with one finger, so it was back in its proper position. “Should I put the television on, or would you prefer to investigate my bookshelves to see what you can glean from their contents” he teased.

Greg grinned and walked over to the crowded alcove, “Hmm, let me see…” he reached up and pulled down a slim paperback “Poetry, e.e. cummings…” he replaced that and pulled out a heavier volume “Hockney’s Paintings?” putting that back he stood on tiptoe and pulled another from the top shelf “The Hobbit. Oh, a first edition? Nice…” He flicked through the worn pages carefully before sliding it back in place. “If I was Sherlock, I would deduce that you are a gay romantic with a thing for hairy feet…how did I do?”

Mycroft quirked a smile, “Two out of three, but I’m not saying which...now come and get comfortable while I try to remember how to work this godforsaken thing.” He gestured towards a very high end television mounted on the wall in the other alcove. “I think it’s that remote on the coffee table, would you like to do the honours?”

Greg sank down on a very comfy, overstuffed settee and made himself a nest amongst the cushions, Mycroft hovered, looking slightly unsure about where to sit. Swinging his bare feet up onto the seat, Greg gestured to Mycroft to sit himself down in the v of his legs, he did so, and with some fidgeting, rearranging of limbs, and fluffing up of cushions, Mycroft found himself lounging with his head propped on the chest of a very comfortable detective inspector, his legs tangled with those of the other man and his back being stroked gently, like he was a cat. It was all rather nice, and before the third lap of the race had finished, he was closing his eyes and dozing off, his breathing slowing and his last conscious memory was that of soft lips being pressed into his hair as he lost the battle to stay awake.

Greg managed to turn down the volume of the television with his free hand as soon as he felt Mycroft’s head leaning heavily against his chest, it was obvious that the man was struggling to stay awake, he wriggled a little to get as comfortable as possible, it looked like he would be there for a while, not that he was complaining.

 _Looks like I managed to shag you out_ , he thought proudly, _I wouldn’t mind building up your stamina though, if you’d give me a chance_. He shook his head and turned his head back to the screen, trying to concentrate on Louis Hamilton driving like a man possessed, rather than the man snoring softly in his arms.

Greg must have dropped off at some point, because, when he opened his eyes again, the sun was lower, slanting into the room, Mycroft had turned over and was now face down, his head tucked under Greg’s chin and a prominent erection pressing into his upper thigh. The television had turned itself off, so the room was quiet, apart from the ticking of a clock on the mantle declaring the time to be 4.45pm, and the sound of Mycroft’s heavy breathing. Greg tapped the other man on his shoulder gently to try and wake him. All that happened was Mycroft ground himself against Greg's leg and snuffled further into his neck. “Myc, come on wake up, you’re crushing me…”

Again, with a roll of his hips, Mycroft ground himself against Greg, his own cock was now beginning to show interest in the proceedings and thicken inside his jeans, pressing uncomfortably against the zip. “Just one more minute…” Mycroft mumbled sleepily into his collar, “…s…so nice…”

Greg barked out a laugh that seemed to suddenly bring the other man back to full consciousness, he jerked himself fully awake, out of Greg’s arms and into the far corner of the settee. Noticing the bulge in his trousers and the small wet stain where his persistent grinding had caused his penis to leak fluid through two layers of clothing, he looked and felt mortified. “Gregory, I apologise for my rather lewd behaviour…” Greg stopped him with a swift movement that ended with their lips locked together and Greg straddling his lap, their cocks aligned and ready for action.

“Hush you. You were asleep, you weren’t fully compos mentis, a rare occasion for you I’d imagine. Anyhow, stop apologising, it’s not like I wasn’t enjoying it, look…” with that, he took hold of Mycroft’s hand and placed it over his zipper, his semi-hard cock twitched at the touch. Mycroft smiled shyly and cupped the swelling, giving it a tentative squeeze.

“Oh yeah…do that again…right there” Greg gasped pressing into his palm and going from interested to fully hard in seconds. Mycroft carefully popped open the button and undid the zip, the head of Greg’s penis poked out from the open fly and with the moan of a starving man, Mycroft pushed him backwards onto the settee and swallowed him down to the root. “Jesus Christ!” Greg swore, as he felt a tongue wrap itself round the swollen glans. Mycroft hollowed his cheeks and applied suction very skilfully, it was never going to take long, not when he was receiving a world class blow job, not when the man he who was giving it seemed to know every trick in the book. Greg had never been deep throated before, but when he felt his length slip into the back of Mycroft’s throat and then man himself looked up at him from under his lashes, swallowed, and gave him the tip of a finger up his arse, well if that wasn’t permission to come…Wrapping his fingers into Mycroft’s hair and giving one last uncontrolled kick of his pelvis, he cried out “Myc!” in warning, and shot his load straight down his throat. Mycroft groaned out his own pleasure, and, as he swallowed down every drop, he felt his own balls pull up tight. He frantically humped against the cushions of the settee and spent himself in his pants like a teenager.

The two men collapsed together in a tangle of limbs, kisses were sloppily exchanged and eventually their breathing slowed enough so that they could speak. “Myc, that was incredible, your mouth, I’m never going to be able to look at your mouth again without getting hard.”

Mycroft giggled, “I take it your fantasy has been fulfilled detective inspector? We have gone at it rather a lot in the last,” he looked up at the clock, “twenty two hours?”

“After the famine, the feast. Yeah Myc, we did private, we did begging, we both got off, more than once, I’d say that was a big fat yes. You know what, before I fuck off and we both get back to our lives of enforced celibacy, I’d really like to sit down with you, eat supper, and toast this weekend with a nice glass of red. Do you think there’s something in that fridge of yours that would do the job?”

“I believe there is some ravioli and a nice sauce that will only take a few minutes to heat up. If you give me a few minutes to nip upstairs and change out of these trousers, I’ll be happy to make dinner for you.”

*****

Greg made his way back to the kitchen, rooted out the pasta and sauce, found a bag of salad leaves and some tomatoes in the salad drawer. He set to work making a dressing while he waited for Mycroft and was busy whisking oil and lemon juice, whistling some pop song he couldn’t get out of his head, when Mycroft returned wearing an identical pair of trousers to the ones he had just wrecked. He snuck up behind the older man and slipped a hand down the back of his jeans, grabbing a handful of smooth, firm, muscular, buttock. Greg let out a yelp and almost dropped the bowl. “Fuck Myc, you’re a bloody menace!” Mycroft spun him round and catching his face in both hands he gave him a long, sweet kiss. “What was that for?” Greg asked, smiling. “It was an impulse, I think it was the whistling…” Mycroft teased, pecking him again on the nose. Greg laughed and continued to add herbs and black pepper to the dressing he was creating, “So, if I want you, I’ll just put my lips together and blow?”

"In the tradition of Bogart and Bacall? Yes...To Have and Have Not, one of my favourite films." Mycroft smiled, as he began to throw together the pasta dish, he found some garlic bread in the freezer and brought it back to life in the oven. With the salad and dressing that Greg had prepared, they sat down to a simple but delicious dinner. They both fell on the food like they hadn’t eaten for months, Mycroft tore into the bread and moaned with pleasure as the garlicky butter melted over his tongue, he rarely allowed himself such treats but tomorrow he would be back on porridge, salads, and poached white fish, so any damage to his diet would quickly be rectified. He had opened a bottle of 1962 Barolo, it had been a present from an Italian dignitary, he had been saving it for a special occasion, but as this weekend had been exemplary, he had no qualms about removing the cork. Greg had taken a large gulp and declared it superb, as Mycroft had hidden the label from him, he had no idea of the vintage or the cost. He filled their glasses again as the meal drew to a close, hoping to delay the inevitable.

“So, are you back in the office tomorrow morning?” Greg asked brushing his finger over Mycroft’s knuckles.

“Yes. An early start, sadly. I’ve got a meeting at 8am with…well you don’t need to know who…let’s just leave it at that.”

“It’s on a need to know basis eh? Is it James Bond? Oh my God, you’re M aren’t you, it all makes sense now!” Greg grinned cheekily across the table.

“Damn it Gregory!…Please understand that my true identity is a matter of national security, if you reveal it, both our lives will be in danger…” Mycroft shook his head in a parody of a man in some distress.

“Don’t worry Mr Holmes, your secret is safe with me. I will, however, need some form of payment to sweeten the deal...Let’s say a kiss, shall we? Better make it a good one.”

Mycroft stood up, walked around the table and taking Greg’s hands pulled him upright so they were standing toe to toe, Greg was a little shorter so he tipped his up head slightly to look him in the face. Mycroft glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall and noted that in five minutes it would be 8.30pm, their 24 hours would be up, Gregory would leave and he would be on his own once more. Instead of longing for the solitude, he felt an ache of disappointment in his chest at the thought of this man walking out of his life. As he bent slightly and his lips touched the warm, soft mouth of this sexy, funny, intelligent man, he put all his longings into the kiss and hoped that it portrayed everything that he couldn’t bring himself to say. Greg moaned under his ministrations and wrapped his hand around Mycroft’s neck, pulling him in closer, licking into his mouth, sending shivers of desire up Mycroft’s spine.

After a few minutes, the kisses softened and the men slowly pulled apart, Greg stared into limpid grey eyes and for a brief moment he allowed himself to swim in their depths, until he was startled out of his reverie by a harsh bleeping noise coming from the phone in his back pocket. Mycroft reached in and pulled it out, swiping the screen to dismiss the alarm, the room was once again silent, but when Greg looked at Mycroft’s face again, it was as if a steel curtain had been pulled across and any signs of apparent weakness had vanished.

“Right, I’ll just go and get my stuff,” he indicated, waving his arm vaguely in the direction of the bedroom where his jacket, shoes and socks were waiting.

“Yes, of course. I’ll just…” Mycroft turned around and started to clear the table, sweeping any evidence of their last supper into the bin and the dishwasher. He could hear Greg moving about upstairs, the water running in the en-suite as he freshened himself up for the journey back home. Mycroft felt something swell in his throat, a lump that threatened to either choke him or embarrass him by issuing forth as a sob. He felt awkward and uneasy, his heart was pounding and he could feel the onset of a panic attack, something he hadn’t felt since his student days, the result of too much study and too little sleep. Why in God’s name was he reacting like this? His hands shook and the glass he was holding slipped out of his fingers and shattered against the hard slate tiles, he leapt back to avoid the shards of glass and found himself backed up against Greg’s chest.

“Hey, are you okay? You didn’t cut yourself did you?” Greg enquired looking down at the broken glass.

“No. I’m fine, it just slipped out of my hands, I’ve always been clumsy, my father used to tease me for it when I was younger…”

“I’ve seen no evidence of that, you move like a dancer, you’re…you’re elegant…” Greg stammered, backing up a little, allowing Mycroft space to turn to face him. Mycroft looked at him like he was puzzled, like the words didn’t compute in his brain, and then he dropped his eyes and blushed furiously.

Greg pushed his hands in his jacket pocket and drew himself up to his full height, “Right, well, I’d better get going. Thanks for today...and last night...It was lovely…” he shook his head at a loss at what to say. “Myc…” he started as the other man spoke “Gregory…”

“What? Sorry. Go on, you first…” Gregory said swallowing his words.

“What I was about to say…what I wanted to say was…I mean…” Mycroft stumbled over his words, struggling to pull a string of cognizant thought together.

“Just say it Myc…I know you don’t do this. Please don’t feel you have to try and spare my feelings. I got to live out my fantasy, and Christ that’s going in my wank bank Myc, it was the best sex I’ve ever had...But we agreed that it was only 24 hours…”

Mycroft interrupted. “Gregory... You never asked about mine...You never asked what my fantasy was…”

“Okay, I’ll play along...What’s your fantasy Mycroft Holmes?” he asked crossing his arms, his brow furrowing in concentration.

“Well...I fantasised...I mean, it's my greatest hope...Christ...Greg...My dearest wish is that you’d stay...” The words slipped from his lips in a barely audible whisper and he looked down at his bare feet avoiding Greg’s critical gaze.

What he didn’t expect was a sob to burst forth from the policeman or to find himself pinned against the wall with such force that the air rushed from his lungs, his cry of shock was muffled by Greg’s mouth devouring his own with such passion that he lost any interest in breathing, threaded his fingers into those beautiful silver locks, and returned the kiss with a desperate hunger that released from him every thought of “no” and “never” and replaced them with “yes” and “now.”

Eventually the men parted and stood panting, their faces only inches apart. Greg spoke first, “So. What are you asking Myc? What is it you want?”

Mycroft smiled shyly “Well, we could start with another 24 hours, and see where it goes from there?”

Greg's casual reply was somewhat diluted by the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes and the stupid shit-eating grin plastered across his face "It couldn't do any harm, could it?...Okay..."

*****

Many years later, after a wedding, a christening, and too many days to count, the men would find themselves cornered at a friend’s house or a works do, and the inevitable question would be asked, “How long have you two been together?” They would look at each other with a fondness born of love and familiarity, and one of them would say “24 hours” as the other nodded in agreement. Depending on who had asked, this would be greeted with a shocked “Oh!” or a laugh and a spluttered “24 hours indeed!” as the inquisitor walked off shaking their head in disbelief. Greg would slip his hand into Mycroft’s, tap his watch, and, as the minutes ticked towards 8.30pm, one of them would ask the other “Another 24 hours, and see where it goes from there?” It was a tradition re-enacted every evening, no matter if they were together or apart, no matter what the time difference, be it in person, over the phone, via text, Skype or email, and the answer was always "It couldn't do any harm, could it?...Okay..." .

 

The End


End file.
